


If Tomorrow Doesn't Come

by Xenovia



Category: Edgar Allan Poe's Murder Mystery Dinner Party (Web Series)
Genre: Gen, Groundhog Day, I'm gonna be real a whole bunch of relationships and aus are gonna be a thing at some point, Probably endgame Wellenore, Time Loop, also a lot of death so um
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:15:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24388057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xenovia/pseuds/Xenovia
Summary: H.G. Wells has finally been able to pull himself back into the time line and manages to travel right back... to the night of his own murder.After witnessing the same night again, he soon realises the Dinner Party Tragedy has become a time loop, resetting right back every time he gets close to solving the mystery.
Relationships: H.G. Wells/Lenore
Comments: 6
Kudos: 27





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Look. Time Loop is 100% the most obvious au for a time travel character but I'm always here for a cliche so here's a super short first chapter let's GO
> 
> (This concept came about as part of a conversation on a Discord, and a separate cosplay tag spawned because of it so if you're into this PLEASE check out the 'GroundHG Day' tag on Tiktok because Émile, Theo and everyone on there deserves a ton of credit)

The first thought that came to mind was a single word he found too ungentlemanly to say out loud.

He hadn’t quite expected the headache to be that bad, but it was searing. He heard a crashing sound as something slipped out of his hands, not at all helping with the pain.

The last year… the Last century? H.G. couldn’t keep track. He’d tried keeping note but it got to a point where it seemed too much hassle to even know. It had been long, and it had been lonely.

But he’d done it.

He’d mastered Time Travel.

And he was back.

And yes he was still technically dead, he knew that, but ghosts were already a presence in the world, hopefully nobody would be too distraught. He had someone that he hoped would be willing to teach him the basics. He knew that at the very least she would definitely still be around.

_He hoped she wasn’t the only one._

H.G. looked round, blinking, eyes adjusting to the noticeably dimmer lights of the place he now stood. It was quiet, but no longer deathly silent. There were faint noises of conversation just a small way off from him, likely from inside a building. He felt tired, but not exhausted. Confused, but not lost. Everything was slightly out of place but, for the first time in what seemed like eternity, he wasn’t altogether gone.

He steadied himself, trying to figure out where on earth, and when in time, he’d managed to end up. It was chilly, it was night, and there was a warm glow of a lantern. As his eyes finally allowed him to see, he looked round. It was… unsettlingly familiar.

The house looked like any other lonely abode of a troubled soul, oddly historic, a few too many candles, the typical house of an author. But this one sent a chill down his spine for more reasons than just the raven perched on the windowsill.

After all, it’s not often you get to return to the place where you died.

“Overshot it.” He muttered, placing himself about a week or so earlier than what he’d intended. He had hoped to appear in perhaps a grander way, but for now it seemed that a simple hello at the door would have to suffice.

Finally, able to ground himself, he stepped forward and prepared to ring the doorbell. He never made it, as he first made the unintentional decision to unceremoniously fall flat on his face.

He sat upright, looking at the item that had tripped him up: a partially dented Microwave that now lay in the dirt with a crack over it’s side.

H.G. frowned, dusting off the excess dirt off himself before standing up. He had hoped that after all this work it would be easily to fall back into his life, but it was already off to a seemingly bad start. He thought it best to move that out of the way before Edgar got upset about having to clean.

He felt oddly uncomfortable as he picked up the contraption and hid it in the bushes, knowing what it had been used for. He supposed that’s why it had been thrown out of the house in the first place.

He could feel that panic building at the back of this throat at he spent a fraction of a second too long thinking about that night.

But he moved on. That would be something to worry about later. That wasn’t a conversation he wanted to face alone.

There was only a handful of things that kept him going during his time out of time, and that was the prospect of eventually being able to get back to the people he cared about, spend time with them without threat of a killer. And _maybe_ to see the looks on their faces when he proved time travel was real.

He went to press the doorbell, suitably impressed that even as a ghost he seemed able to interact with the corporeal world with ease. He waited patiently, desperately hoping for a familiar face to open the door. A thrill of relief surged through him when he saw them. The last time he’d seen either of them was not the most pleasant of experiences, to put it mildly. He smiled as they greeted him, they looked just as he remembered.

_Almost…. Exactly as he remembered._

He watched Edgar smile briefly, not quite catching his eye. There didn’t seem to be much rejoicing on their side. He worried that maybe they’d parted on bad terms, he couldn’t remember exactly what their last time together was. 

Slowlyat first, and then in a matter of seconds, he began to realise things were off. He noticed himself recognising a few of the voices coming from inside the house. He tried to look over at Lenore but she stared straight through him, looking vaguely unimpressed. Then was none of the warmth from the attic, not even a hint of shock at him being there. H.G.’s smile dropped. Edgar's words were the point where he realised something was very, very wrong. It was a simple conversation starter, awkward, but nothing malicious. Yet every word of it made it feel like he’d been pulled right back out of the timeline.

“Hello! H.G. Wells! H? For Short? H.G? What do we go by?”


	2. The First Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey so turns out writing the first loop of a time loop story is harder than expected when people already know the plot and you don't want to just redo the whole script, who would've thought.

He didn’t have an answer to the question. Edgar coughed, prompting a response.

H.G. raised a hand to his trouser pocket, hoping to find the thing that brought him here in the first place. There was no such luck, all he found was a single notebook. He tried to keep himself calm as he started to feel the panic in his chest.

 _This is fine_. He told himself repeatedly. He’d messed up before, sent himself to an old Christmas get together by mistake, but that had worked out fine and only taken a couple more months to correct. He’d be able to get through this.

But this felt different. When he’d arrived on earth before, he’d still felt ghostly, absent. But here he could feel a heartbeat, feel the ground under his feet. It was like Lenore had said, _Corporeal._ But he wasn’t trying to be.

“I’m sorry, this isn’t how this was meant to go- I’ve gone backwards. My apologies.” He said as he continued checking. Edgar pursed his lips, looking concerned but not fully invested. H.G. wasn’t paying much attention.

“I… don’t know what that means.” He looked at H.G. who stood there still empty handed. Edgar attempted a small smile, though the annoyance was still present. “Do you perhaps have a dish that you would like to offer to the party?” He asked, clearly seeing that he wasn’t getting an answer to the first one. H.G. stopped his eyes from trailing to the Microwave discarded in the bushes.

“No-” He said, still trying to find the object. He tried his jacket. It was a tiny pocket watch, he could’ve easily misplaced it. He looked up again, seeing Edgar and Lenore frowning, very disappointed. Lenore shook her head. “I’m sorry I… I must’ve forgotten.”

“You put Potluck on the invitation right?” Edgar said, turning to look at Lenore. H.G. let out a sigh of relief as his hand finally clasped round the watch. He’d experimented on it long enough to know how to work it without looking.

“Yeah obvs.” Lenore replied, almost insulted. “But I told you, _nobody_ is gonna read all those words. And you did see that one of them literally just brought a knife-” H.G. took a breath, preparing himself. Edgar exhaled as Lenore continued to berate the guest’s offerings.

“Okay well… write that part bigger next time.” Lenore’s jaw dropped as she stared at him incredulously.

“There’s gonna be a next time? Seriously?”

H.G. winced as he pressed the top of the watch, dreading the sensation of being sent back out of time, but at least he knew how to fix it now. It clicked.

And he still found himself stood in front of two increasingly irritated party hosts.

_That was an issue._

“Sorry I just…” He watched the two of them, as he came to realise the situation. He pulled the pocket watch out and stared at it. It was fully unmodified and looked like any plain old watch. It looked identical to how it did on the night of the party. “There’s something dreadfully wrong and I-“

“Why don’t you come inside?” said Lenore, smiling awkwardly and likely trying to move the night along. H.G. smiled slightly, it was nice to see Lenore again. But he got rid of the thought, she wasn’t meant to see him this way.

He fumbled with the watch again, desperate for it to work. He didn’t want to experience this again. His head thudded as he remembered the night. It was hard enough to keep those memories at bay when he wasn’t in the place they were made.

“No I really don’t think- it’s my watch-“ H.G. continued, unsure how to finish the sentence. Edgar looked away from the conversation. Lenore leaned back to check a clock on the wall and addressed H.G. again.

“Okay well we’ve seriously gotta get ready for the other guests so if you’re not coming I’ll-“ She stepped back, moving to walk inside again.

“No no no- no I’m…” He looked between them, not wanting to be left. He clearly wouldn’t be able to fix his time machine out there with nothing but a smashed invention and a notebook, he’d at least have more of a chance to sort things if he was inside. “I’ll head in.”

Lenore gave a thumbs up and pointed him towards the dining room. H.G. didn’t quite know how else to respond so, ignoring the discomfort he felt when he looked at them, he stepped inside the house. He accepted that he’d just have to play along until he was able to get things fixed, no matter what that meant he’d have to rewitness.

He hadn’t quite acknowledged just how much death there was. He shuddered to himself as he moved further into the buildin.g

_There was the kitchen where someone got murdered, there was the study where someone got murdered, the cellar where they kept dead bodies, the bathroom where someone got murdered._

He walked down the hall, leaving his hosts in the foyer, and entered a room of the dead. Well not entirely, a few very alive people were with them.

It was an odd experience to say the least.

Louisa May Alcott, last seen a corpse in the hallway, was very enthusiastically talking to Mary Shelley, a woman he’d unintentionally murdered. The three others in the room were all possibly the killer.

H.G. felt more than a little uncomfortable.

 _“It’s fine”_ He thought to himself _“You just need to find a way to fix it”_

When he’d entered the party originally he’d immediately placed his invention down and gone to his seat. It seemed his shock at everyone being there had allowed him to linger in the doorway a little too long. The man nearest him, leaning against the table, turned his way. He looked him up and down with an expression he could only describe as ‘mild disinterest’.

“You that science fiction nerd guy?” Ernest asked, taking a swig of his already half empty drink. Charlotte smirked across the table. H.G. tried not to feel too insulted. He was already fully aware of how Ernest spoke to people. But it was strange to not be at least slightly well acquainted.

“Yes. H.G Wells.” Ernest held out his hand, not moving from where he was. H.G. stepped forward and shook it hesitantly.

“Knew it, goggles gave it away.” He said, nudging Oscar who seemed to ignore him. “Name’s Ernest. Ernest-”

“Hemingway, yes I… know your books.” Ernest smiled, looking almost pleased, then quickly went back to his drink.

“Course you do.” H.G. pursed his lips and continued round to his assigned seat, Charlotte didn’t acknowledge him. He waited and watched as everyone filed in, nobody else made a pass to speak with him so he passed the time with a morbid game of figuring out who the killer could potentially be.

There were a few that were still living when he… passed, there was every chance of them hiding something.

Oscar and Ernest seemed to dislike a majority of the guests, Charlotte and Annabel had history with Eddie Dantes, Edgar invited them there. He felt it unlikely that it was Lenore, she had every opportunity but hadn’t taken them. But he didn’t want to let his guard down. He looked up as the other guests continued to file in. He went over the night in his head. _Should he warn them?_

He shook his head gently, he couldn’t afford to think like that. He’d try to play this as natural as possible and just get out. Just had to play it safe. When everyone was settled, Edgar took to the head of the table and began to talk.

“Friends, thank you for being here. We are-“ H.G. found himself zoning out during Edgar’s speech.

He knew that as soon as dinner was done he could hunt round the house, but until that point he was stuck. So he waited. And waited. Every tick of the clock and the hushed conversations were too familiar, things he had forgotten to remember. He couldn’t list the exact order of events but he could tell they were getting closer and closer to when everything began.

Fyodor talking about cold soup, Charlotte complaining about her card, George asking to switch characters. Little tiny moments that jogged memories he was yet to experience.

He’d mastered time travel, but he still didn’t have the faintest idea about the rules of it. He was hesitant to alter things too heavily. Unfortunately that meant letting things run their course. He was also fully aware that someone in that room his own murderer, and nobody else knew. That didn’t help his unease. At the very least, he was glad that he’d initially he’d been very quiet at the party, he hoped it would make him seem less suspicious.

“When will someone be murdered?” Oscar bemoaned amongst all the chatter. H.G. looked at his character card, he’d commented originally that he knew who the killer was. It was easy enough to figure out who it was in the game, he’d heard Charlotte read out her character’s motives under her breath, but in reality he wasn’t so certain.

As Edgar explained the other cards, H.G. watched Eddie and Annabel enter. Curious, he looked round the table to see anyone’s reactions. A curl of the lip from Mary, An aside glance from Fyodor. It was clear everyone in there recognised him. As far as he could tell that was the only victim that everybody had a specific motive for.

Eddie shared light conversation with the table that wasn’t well received by the host, and eventually was seated. H.G. watched once more. There was no signs of slow acting poisons, nothing on his plate that could have been tampered with. Except maybe the soup, but he’d already ruled Lenore out. _Unless._

He dropped that thought, she wouldn’t be the killer. She couldn’t be. His eye drifted to her as she looked round the table in disgust.

“What’s everyone’s deal? I thought I was supposed to be the dead one here.” H.G.’s head turned towards Eddie. He knew where they were about to head, this felt familiar. Thoughts raced in his mind, trying to weigh up the moral value of letting thing happen. Eddie smiled at Annabel across the room and then laughed at something quietly. He looked so unaware, H.G.’s gut twisted. How long did he have? A few more people in the room spoke, Edgar explained the game’s rules and Lenore started explaining her character. H.G. kept his eyes on Eddie. He watched him take a sip from his glass right before Miss Shelley pushed her chair back and stood up.

“Before this night ends I have something to say-“

If anyone else’s eyes had been on Eddie, he hadn’t noticed before the lights cut out.

And the lights came on. And a man was dead. And he’d done nothing to stop it.

He wasn’t sure how to feel.

Everyone moved to comment on the situation, all still acting as if it was a game. H.G. knew he’d vowed to try and keep things the same, but he had a distinctly bad memory involving his face and soup. He hoped the universe would forgive him if he skipped that part.

Everyone but Annabel continued as if everything was merely part of a game, he felt sick knowing someone there had to be lying.

“You had the most to gain-“

He heard Lousia May cough as she accused someone of being murderer, and the sound made H.G. turn to the hallway. He hadn’t planned to solve the murder, but _perhaps._ Just while he was searching for a way to leave.

He looked round, everyone was still fussing over Eddie’s body, or exchanging vague threats and joking accusations. He turned back to the doorway, it wasn’t far from him. He thought back to the night. They would likely be at that for a while until the next person died. He couldn’t remember how it happened, but maybe a search round the area would give him an idea. It was a morbid curiosity, just to see whether he was right.

He stood, pushing back his chair. Nobody seemed to take any notice of him. As he moved towards the edge of the room, a woman on the other side of the table whose name he couldn’t quite remember gave him a look, but didn’t say anything.

H.G. slipped into the hallway, leaving behind the sound of Fyodor exposing his connection to Eddie, and began looking round for any kind of murder weapon. Alcott was definitely next to die, but they’d never found the true cause of death. He thought back to the night, it felt so long ago now.

 _“What are you doing?”_ He thought _“Just fix the clock and leave, they die in this timeline, it doesn’t matter how.”_

But part of him was still too curious.

He stopped, hearing footsteps behind him. Someone had finally seen him. He walked back slightly, readying a plausible alibi. He didn’t need to be accused this early.

Before he had a chance to see who it was, he felt someone’s arm round his body and a sharp pain in his neck.

The next moments were a blur as he felt he felt his breath constricting, eyesight going hazed. He raised a hand to his neck, feeling his throat constricting. He tried to yell out but the person covered his mouth with something in their hand, muffling his voice. The person didn’t seem to be much stronger than him, but he couldn’t get away from them.

The breathing and vision got worse as he began to slump in their arms. Eventually the loosened their grip and H.G, Wells fell to the floor, dead.  
  


* * *

It was just his thoughts without a body for a moment. He was dead. He was dead without solving any mystery, without properly meeting any of the people he cared about. The timeline would likely move on without him, and he’d merely be the second victim of a Dinner Party.

He was dead.

And he was at peace with that.

* * *

And then he was back.

He found himself crumpling to the floor, holding his throat. There wasn’t enough time out of time to fully recover, he could still feel it. Slowing his breathing, he sat up, looking round. He saw the door.

The Architecture.

The Ravens.

The Tell-Tale signs of Edgar Allen Poe’s house.

He stood up slowly, realising he was clutching the invention he’d brought to the party once more. He again heard the signs of people inside, and feared what he might find if he went back to the house.


End file.
